Screw That Guy
by Vampiracy
Summary: When Stan finds out that Craig seduced Kyle, all bets are off. Now to avenge Kyle's honor, Stan sets out on a mission to sleep with the one person that Craig loves more than anyone. Just as soon as he figures out who that is. Slash. Parody.


**AN:** Since this is the South Park fandom, I kind of hesitate to call anything crack. That said… yeah, I have nothing to say for myself. Please don't take this seriously. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Screw That Guy<strong>

"Kyle!" Stan bursts into Kyle's room with an urgency that does not stay. It is checked at the door as he walks in more slowly, feeling the frown as it spreads across his face. "Kyle…"

Kyle is in his bed, sitting up but barely awake; eyes open, but not looking. "Stan…" If nothing else confirms it, the tone of his voice does.

"So it's true?" Stan goes to his bedside. "What happened with you and," he stops. Looking down at Kyle, he can't say it.

Kyle can, though he's not looking back. "Yes."

"I- I thought it was going well," Stan manages. "I thought we were going to…"

"It was," Kyle says, trembling. "We… we were." A choked sob escapes him, and suddenly he is clutching his blanket in tight white knuckles and his eyes zero in on Stan's, large and desperate. "I'm so sorry, Stan! There was nothing I could do, he," his grip on his blanket then loosens until it's released, all of the fight leaving him just as quickly as it had surged. "He found my weakness."

Stan's eyes widen as he realizes the implications. "No," he says in a small voice.

"Yes." Kyle closes his eyes. "I can be seduced by anybody."

And isn't that the truth of it. Kyle, sweet Kyle, single spot of light in an otherwise dark world Kyle… anybody can have him if they only put their mind to it, and apparently, Craig Tucker had.

"It should have been me," Stan says, trying to sound less defeated than he feels.

"It was going to _be_ you," Kyle says as a single tear slides down his cheek. "But then Craig showed up, and _god_ Stan, he was so, _so-_"

"Manipulative, I know."

"-_Sexy_."

"What?" Stan stares. "You actually still think so?" He's… he's having a hard time processing this.

"Everybody thinks so," Kyle shoots back like Stan hasn't been paying attention. "Have you _seen_ his teeth since he got his braces removed?"

"He had braces?"

"And you know he smokes, right?"

"I mean I guess I've heard things, but I've never seen…"

"So. Fucking. Hot."

"Okay," Stan says disdainfully, because that's enough of this, right here.

"And tall…"

"Hey, I'm tall," Stan argues.

"Are you, Stan?" Kyle asks as he looks up at him critically. "Are you, really?"

Yeah, he's had enough of this. "So you just want Craig now, is that it?"

"What?" To his credit, Kyle looks completely taken aback by the outburst. "No! I'm just pointing out that he's got to be one of the hottest guys in the very limited dating pool of the people from our fourth grade class, and I- well, that's the whole thing, isn't it?" Shame and guilt start filling his eyes before he blinks them away. "I never stood a chance."

Stan sinks down heavily at the end of Kyle's bed. "I guess not."

"I'm sorry, Stan," Kyle says feebly. "This is all my fault."

Stan looks at him and disagrees, though he does see where he's coming from. Stan almost wants to blame himself too, with thoughts like how he should have paid more attention, or how he should have acted sooner, but something like that? It would be overlooking the most obvious and ultimately the truest culprit here.

If not for Craig, they would not be in this state of disarray. If not for Craig, Kyle's precious purity would not be in utter shambles. If not for Craig…

Stan doesn't need to slip his hand into his pocket, because it's already found its way there. His thumb slides against a smooth gold band. If not for Craig, Stan would be securing a lifelong relationship with the best friend he had inevitably come to love.

He closes his hand around it firmly.

"Don't blame yourself, Kyle. This isn't your fault, or mine. It's that bastard Craig's, and I swear to you, I'll make him pay."

"How?" Kyle asks, somber still.

"Oh, Kyle." Stan lifts his free hand gingerly and puts it over his. "I'm going to find the love of Craig's life, and fuck him."

Kyle stares back at him. "That's your plan."

"How else am I supposed to avenge your honor, here?" Stan asks, because it's not like anything else makes sense. Seriously if there's another idea, he'd love to hear it. "A dick for a dick, Kyle."

"Okay first of all, we don't even know if Craig _has_ a love of his life."

"What's more likely, that he does or he doesn't?"

Kyle opens his mouth to start arguing, but then his eyes lighten as he slowly takes in the setting, and sees his point. "…Huh. Do you really think it will work?"

"I have to try."

Kyle is quiet for a moment before he finally moves, crawling forward on his bed to kiss Stan softly with what remains of his chastity. "Get him, Stan," he says as he draws back, resolve hardening his eyes. "Disgrace that asshole."

"I will." Stan gets to his feet. "And Kyle, if I fail-"

"You won't."

He pauses. "No, I suppose I won't." He looks back at Kyle one last time, with a smile he truly cannot help. "Everybody has someone that they love more than anyone."

Kyle blushes and looks down, failing to fight off a hopeful little smile of his own. Stan takes a moment with this; takes some last few seconds to let the sight warm his heart before he turns away and coats it in sharpened steel.

It's time to get Craig's.

* * *

><p>"Welcome to Tweek Bros, what can I get you?"<p>

Stan puts an elbow on the table and leans forward. "What would you recommend?" he asks, though only for the ceremony of it. He knows what he wants.

Tweek Tweak stands there behind the counter, in all of his spastic blonde glory. If there's anyone who can get Craig to show the limits of his affection and beyond, it's Tweek. Even Stan can't deny that there's just something, well, _about_ him. His twitches, his ticks, his wild theories, his impossible frailty – or, maybe he's not that frail at all? He did manage to learn boxing all the way back in third grade for his big fight with Craig – where their sexual chemistry started, no doubt – so maybe there's more to him. Who's to say? He could be anyone behind this coffee addicted tweak kid.

But whoever he is, he's perfect for Craig, which is more than perfect for Stan.

"For you? Gah! I don't know what you like! Um," Tweek stops, takes a breath, and goes on a little more steadily. "There's coffee, our signature roast and some others, and we have iced drinks – don't ask me why! – and espresso shots, but only if you want to stay up all night, and- and then there's always the frozen blended stuff if you're a pussy, so, _nngh_. One Frappuccino?" he asks, then freezes. "Shit! Fuck! That's the Starbucks brand- forget I said that!" he says, shooting a quick look over his shoulder. It's lucky that Tweek's parents aren't around. Lucky, indeed.

"Actually… I was more interested in the barista."

"Me?!" Tweek asks, pointing to himself as his mouth falls open.

"Mmn," Stan confirms.

Tweek takes another second, then scrambles back and away from the register. "I'm not for sale!" he shrieks.

"I'd hope not," Stan says, straightening up. "You'd be worth so much more than anyone could afford."

"…Still not for sale!"

He doesn't seem to get it.

"Wh- what are you-?!" Tweek starts to hyperventilate. "Only employees can be behind the counter!" he says desperately, backing himself into the corner amid mugs and coffee beans.

"So put me to work," Stan says as he gets closer. "I don't mind being on my knees."

"Oh god, OH JESUS!"

"Hey." Stan takes Tweek's chin in his hand, and tilts it up. "Save that for later." He goes in for the kiss.

Tweek outmaneuvers him with a shriek and a shove before he sprints away, not stopping until he is out the door and long gone after that. _Shit_.

Stan starts after him, but he's barely taken a step when the door swings open and someone else enters. "Okay, let's see… I need a double latte, a regular sized coffee – can you leave room for cream? And one of those cardboard drink trays would be nice – a small mocha…"

"Huh?" Stan asks, staring at the woman dumbly from behind the counter of the coffee shop.

"Oh, sorry- a tall mocha? Is that what you call it here? Tall?"

"Uh." Stan doesn't come up with anything before two additional customers enter and a line starts to form. "…Did you want whipped cream on that?"

"Oh, no, thank you." She smiles.

Stan loses sight of his mission as he serves up coffee for the next half hour.

"Wow, $12.86, just for some coffee?" Another customer complains lightly as he pays.

"Sorry man, I don't make the prices," Stan sympathizes.

"I get it," the guy laughs as he takes his drinks. "Take care!"

"You too!" Stan bids cordially, giving him a slight wave as he takes off, perfectly cheerful.

Until Craig walks through the door.

Stan is at a loss for words as rage seeps into everything he knows.

"How about a coffee?" Craig asks as he approaches the counter. "Black."

Stan finds his voice. "And bitter, I suppose?" he asks, eyes not leaving Craig's as he reaches for the cup.

Craig's eyes narrow, but there's a smile on his lips. "Yeah. As bitter as you can make it. And Marsh?" He pauses, just for the sake of it. "Brew a fresh pot."

Stan glares, but gets it started.

"I know what you're trying to do," Craig says, putting his arm on the counter with casual condescension.

"Do you now."

"It doesn't take a genius."

"Then I can see how you figured it out."

Craig sneers. "It won't work, you know. You can't get to me. You never have, and you never will."

"Is that right?" Stan asks as the coffee machine hisses and starts to brew. "Because all I did was hit on Tweek once, and here you are. So, from where I'm standing?" Stan puts his hands on the edge of the counter and leans over it. "You may have known Kyle's weakness, but now I know yours."

"And you think it's Tweek." Craig laughs calmly. "Maybe I shouldn't have even stopped by."

"What do you mean?" Stan asks, after a beat.

"In simple terms?" Craig leans forward. "Try again, loser."

…What? "It's Tweek," Stan says. "It has to be Tweek," he bargains. The very notion that it isn't is- it's _unthinkable_.

And yet, Craig confirms it. "I don't love Tweek." He confirms it like his words aren't blades, shearing into the legitimacy of the greatest relationship he could ever hope to have. "Or hey, keep wasting your time. I think I'm almost enjoying this. Tell me something," he leans in eagerly, "Kyle- was I his first? Because he wasn't mine." Stan knows he's saying this to get to him, but it still does nothing for his overwhelming urge to throw his fist across the counter.

The sizzle of fresh coffee brings him back. "Coffee," he says as he pours it and puts it in front of Craig. "Bitter."

"Sorry, did you think that was for me?" Craig turns up his nose to project his deluded sense of superiority. "See you around, Marsh. And tell Kyle that if he ever wants a repeat, well… my door's not open." He pauses just to smirk, then leaves. The mild jingle of the bell on the door doesn't do credit to the evil that walks out.

Stan doesn't know what's more offending, Craig's comments about Kyle, or the fact that he's not in a loving, committed relationship with Tweek.

It seems equal parts insane and wrong to even think about. They would be so _perfect_ together, and… and as invigorated as he was to get his revenge, he just doesn't know how invested he can be now, knowing that Craig and Tweek aren't the endgame. He should just shut it down; shut down this whole operation, right now. Hell, it'd be as simple as the click of a button.

And yet…

Kyle.

All right… yeah, okay. It'll be difficult, and he'll keep that metaphorical exit button handy just in case this gets too nonsensical or just plain bad, but for now it looks like he's still a little invested. For Kyle. Or for whatever other reason. Who's to say, really.

Anyway.

If Craig isn't with Tweek he has to be with _someone_, but who? Who else could he possibly be with, and love? No one else made sense, by any stretch of the imagination.

At least, not until he _really_ stretches his imagination and it comes to him. This one takes some creativity, but yes, Stan can see it now. The more he thinks about it the more sense it makes, to the point where it's hard to believe he's considered anything else.

So he invites Kenny over right after school the next day.

"Mmph mm mph mmmm mph mphmm mmn!"

"No problem, dude."

"Mmph mph mm mm mph?"

"Just you and me today, Kenny. Why don't you take off your parka, so people can actually understand you?"

"Mnn? Mph mm mphmm mnnderstand me, Stan?" Kenny asks as Stan goes ahead and helps him out of that hood of his.

"You know; people. And it's warm in here. I don't want you uncomfortable. Actually," he pauses, stepping back to consider. "I think I'm going to take my hat and jacket off too. Do you mind?"

"It's your room," Kenny says with a mild shrug.

"It is, isn't it." Stan unzips his jacket and starts to pull it off, nice and slow, until it gets to a point where it's hanging loosely over his arms and back. Then he drops his arms and lets his shoulders do the rest of the work, rolling them back to shrug it lower in steady, fluid motions, arching as necessary. By the time he is finished his jacket has fallen to the back of his feet, and his shirt has ridden up for the effort.

He's aware of Kenny's eyes on him, but doesn't acknowledge it. Instead he reaches up for his hat and pulls it off, taking care to give his wrist a little flick as he drops it carelessly.

"There… that's better." Stan closes his eyes and releases a drawn out breath. "Oh, but I'm sure my hair looks awful," he adds, like it can't be helped. He runs his hand through it in a would-be attempt to fix it up, though only makes it more of a mess.

"Stan," Kenny says in a light yet careful voice, "did you invite me over just to tease?"

It's refreshing how quickly he catches on. "If it's working."

"Then by all means… don't stop."

"Sit down, and I won't."

Kenny spins Stan's chair away from his chest and takes a seat, completely unabashed as his eyes roam Stan's body. Stan bites back a grin, realizing again just how much he prefers Kenny to Tweek, for Craig and Stan's purposes alike.

Stan steps closer and crosses his arms over his chest, lifting his shirt up the sexy way.

Kenny leans forward. "_Fuck_ yeah."

"Yeah?" Stan asks breathily.

"Keep going," Kenny shamelessly demands, so Stan shamelessly peels off the rest of his shirt and lets it fall in the heap with everything else.

"I think I ruined my hair again," Stan says with a small noise of discontent before he starts to lift his hand.

"No, don't," Kenny interrupts quickly.

Stan stops and eyes Kenny appreciatively. Oh, when things go right. He rewards Kenny's cooperation by letting his hand fall on himself instead, streaking its way down the contours of his solid chest.

"On second thought, get over here. Why should you get all of the fun?" Kenny says. Apparently the display was enough for him, which is almost a shame because Stan had more, but this is good too. Hell, this is great.

"Well, since you're going to help me." Stan saunters over as Kenny takes his gloves off, pulling Stan greedily closer as soon as he has.

"Shit, you're like a model." He pulls Stan nearer still, exploring every inch of his chest for himself. He keeps going back to his arms.

"Am I?" Stan muses lightly, letting Kenny do as he likes as he grabs the collar of his parka. Then he closes what little distance is left between them. "I thought I told you to take this off."

He pulls down the rest of the parka and lets it fall into a messy lump on the chair. Then Stan gets his hands on the armrests and sets his feet firmly to the floor, if only to give Kenny the little bit of room he needs to lift up and grind himself against him.

The parka falls further.

"The door's locked," Stan assures him as he adjusts most of his weight to his feet so he can let the armrests go and get both of his hands on Kenny's briefs instead.

"Fucking hell, yes," Kenny says, wrought with anticipation. He watches as Stan's hands move lower, taking what's left of Kenny's clothing with him, before he lets out a conflicted groan and puts a hand on Stan's wrist. "I'm not home wrecking, am I?" he asks. "'Cause don't get me wrong, I'm more than happy to get bit in the ass, but only literally you know?" Even so, his hand slowly moves to join the other at Stan's belt, toying with the buckle. "If this has something to do with Kyle…"

"Don't worry about Kyle. Or Craig," Stan adds, pulling Kenny's briefs down to expose him. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight and attempts to prioritize everything he wants to do – and in what order.

"Why would I worry about Craig?" Kenny asks. Stan may as well have not been wearing a belt at all for how quickly his boxers and jeans shuffle down his legs.

"Do you two have an open relationship?" Stan asks, trying to hide his disappointment. He'd prefer it if all of this was behind Craig's back. He can work with it either way – whatever their arrangement, Craig wouldn't want Stan involved – but still.

"We're not in a relationship at all."

"What do you mean, you're not in a relationship at all?"

"Exactly what you think it means," Kenny says with an impatient huff. "Can we get back to it now?" He doesn't so much ask, as he reaches his hand out for Stan's dick.

Stan stands up before he makes it. "You're _not_ with Craig?"

"No, damnit! So can we _please_ just-" But, Stan stops hearing him.

All of that, and for what? Fucking, _nothing_?! Stan scowls and doesn't even look back at Kenny before he pulls up his pants, grabs the rest his clothes, and stalks out.

"Stan? Hey wait! Where are you- I- oh, _COME ON_!"

Kenny is yelling things after him he thinks, but Stan still doesn't hear. Kenny's not important anymore, now that he's apparently not with Craig. Jesus _shit_ does Stan feel betrayed. How much time has he wasted now, following another false lead?

God, Craig and Kenny… he really thought… damnit, is it even worth trying to break Craig's heart at this point? He only seems to be breaking his own over and over.

Then once again, around a half an hour later, Craig reaches out to torment him. This time through text.

_Hear you've been dealing out cold showers._

Once again Stan finds his energy, and uses it to glare at his phone.

_Who told you that _

_Kenny._

Fucking Kenny.

Craig sends him another text. _Give up yet_?

_Stop texting me_, Stan replies.

Craig listens, but somehow this only bothers Stan more. No, he's not done. He's doing something about this. Okay. Against all odds, it isn't Tweek. Against most reasoning, it isn't Kenny. That leaves only…

…Who?

Who else could have even a sliver of a chance of capturing Craig's heart? Who else could come even close?

It is a puzzle that Stan tries to work out all evening, and yet even by football practice the next day, he has nothing.

"Hey Stan," Clyde greets with a brief nod before he sits down on the bench beside him, removing his helmet to take a drink of water.

It was difficult enough earlier, trying to work out who Craig might have a gay relationship with if not Tweek. Now with Kenny eliminated too, Stan is left grasping at straws for something else that could make even a little bit of sense. That's the thing though, _is_ there anything?

"So I heard you and Craig are in a fight or something?" Clyde questions.

The more Stan considers it, the less he thinks so. It's not like there's anyone Craig hangs out with regularly. Shit, when it comes to people Craig might even _like_, Kyle is higher on that list than anyone else Stan can think of. Not that it means anything – Kyle is still Stan's man, thank you – but still.

"Because I know we're teammates and all, but if I have to pick a side, I mean…"

Instead he is left with no viable options; no clues at all to the identity of his next target, much less their whereabouts. Unless- unless it's true? Unless Craig has no one that he loves after all. It's a sobering thought, and one that denies Stan his revenge, but he has no others. This plot just isn't working with him.

"So, are you? Dude Stan, are you even listening?"

"Do you mind, Clyde?" Stan casts him an annoyed look. "I'm trying to figure out who-" he freezes. "…who…" Of course… of course! How had he missed this? Well, okay, it wouldn't have been his first guess at all – hell, it wasn't – but at this point, and through the process of elimination, and the ability to finally, _finally_ consider the obvious…!

He has him now. Oh, does he have him now. "Clyde I need you to come with me to the locker room, just real quick okay?"

"…To the locker room?"

"Yeah man. It'll only take like," he pauses to give Clyde a quick once-over, "a minute, tops."

"Well I guess I could-"

"C'mon," Stan cuts him off before he can change his mind. He then drags Clyde away from the field, past the bleachers, inside the school, and to the locker room, making sure to shut the doors firmly so it's just the two of them among the empty locker bays and showers.

"So. Clyde." Stan turns to face him.

"Um. Yeah, hi?" Clyde looks nervous, but he has nothing to worry about, not really. Then again, that depends on him.

Stan takes slow steps, steering him until his back hits the wall. "There's something I need from you." He sets his hand against one of the bricks beside Clyde's head. "Thomas' address."

"Okaaaaay…" Clyde drawls out with confusion. "I guess I could text it to you?"

"_Perfect_."

Clyde gets out his phone, and starts tapping. "Why'd we have to go to the locker room for this, dude?"

"Because Craig can't know, you got that? Don't tell him," Stan warns.

"Okay," Clyde agrees distractedly as he continues to tap. It takes him more than a minute, but eventually he lowers his phone and looks up. "Okay, sent."

"_Ya ya ya, ya ya ya_," Stan's pocket confirms. He smiles darkly at the unfamiliar address in his message window. It's finally time for Craig to get what's coming to him.

At least, that's the way it's supposed to go before Stan actually shows up. The address he's been given is the address to Shakey's, and the Tourette's troubled boy is nowhere in sight. Craig is, though, sipping water at a booth he's claimed all for himself.

The bastard spots Stan before he has a chance to leave and raises a beckoning hand. Against his better judgment, Stan sits down. "Damnit, Clyde," is the first thing he can think to express.

"Yeah, he texted me what was up in the locker room." Craig crosses his arms and leans back comfortably. "I had him send you here instead."

"Protecting your lovely Thomas?"

"Only because he's my best friend," Craig says, simultaneously crushing at least two souls.

"Right," Stan says. "But instead of _best friend_, you mean, _butt buddy_."

"Best friend," he corrects. "But go right ahead if you want to keep trying. Thomas has always been nervous about that kind of stuff, so he could use somebody easy."

Easy? Hmph. This stupid, conceited, high and mighty, self-involved _asshole_, he'll show him who's ea- …sy…?

Stan puts everything on pause for a moment. He _has_ been pretty easy, hasn't he? Thomas. Kenny. Tweek, especially. They really were the expected suspects; hell, they were counted on, and by assuming it he's been playing right into Craig's hand. If he stops to think though, _actually_ and not wishfully…

"I know," Stan finds himself realizing.

"That Thomas could use somebody easy?" Craig asks, a little bit confused.

"No, that you- never mind; it doesn't matter anymore," Stan shakes his head. "You're a tough guy to screw over, Craig. I give up. You win. The round, this whole thing, whatever – I'm done," he resigns. "Anyway, while we're here- have you eaten? Because I haven't. We should get pizza."

"Huh?" Craig asks, a lot more confused. "You… can't be serious…"

"Still, we should get pizza. I'll buy," Stan adds, then leans forward. "Did you know? You have the most wonderful eyes."

"Uh. I, uh, did know, but thank you?"

"And I hate to admit it but you were pretty smart, getting me here like this."

"Heh, yeah."

Stan smiles. "Let's get pizza."

Craig nods. "Okay."

They get pizza. Then they go back to Stan's.

Revenge is so fulfilling.

* * *

><p>"Kyle?" Stan asks the next morning, giving the door a light knock before carefully pushing himself in.<p>

"Stan?" Kyle lets go of his mouse and stands from his computer. "You're here. Does that mean that you found out who it was? Does that mean you…?"

"Yeah I did," Stan says, putting down the bag he's holding to shut the door and go over to Kyle. "And yes, _I did_." He stops in front of him to twirl a finger through one of his many curls. "Don't you worry about a thing."

Kyle looks relieved, like he's starting not to. "So everything's good, then."

"It is. And I don't know about you, but I'm ready to put this behind us. So Kyle," he breaks his hand away from Kyle's face, only to slip it in his pocket and at last pull out that gold band. "Marry me?"

Kyle gasps. "I- I want to say yes, but are you sure?" He frowns painfully. "Stan, I'm still really powerless to the wiles of my male peers, all of them."

"That includes me, right?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"And you'd be willing to try, right?"

"_Of course_, but-"

Stan cuts him off with a kiss. "Then say yes already."

"You're so," Kyle starts, but then he laughs, wipes his eyes, and takes the ring. "_Yes_."

"Good," Stan says as he turns away to grab his bag while Kyle puts the ring on. "In that case…"

"What's that?" Kyle asks, looking up as Stan walks back over.

"Engagement gift," Stan grins as he hands it over.

"Oh my god," Kyle says as he looks inside, just before he starts laughing. "That's fucked up, you know that right?"

"Maybe a bit," Stan smirks. "Makes sense though, doesn't it?"

"God, I love you." Kyle lunges at Stan and pulls him into another kiss, letting the bag fall on its side. Craig's clothes spill to the floor, soon all but forgotten as other articles of discarded clothing fall to join them. After all, one must have their priorities.

* * *

><p>"Shit, <em>ASS<em>!" Thomas spits out, paranoia at being in someone else's house flaring up even more as he slams the door behind him, staring at a stark naked Craig in a room that's half torn apart and void of even the smallest scrap of clothing.

"Watch your mouth, _TURD_!" thunders from the room next door, while Craig winces and holds an urgent hushing finger to the lips of his very red face.

Thomas slams a hand over his mouth and throws Craig the backpack he brought. Craig wastes no time in tearing it open and pulling on whatever clothes he can get to first. It helps, but it doesn't do anything for the bold _F-U-C-K-E-D_ written across his forehead in permanent black marker.

Thomas keeps his mouth shut until they are safely escaped and outside on the sidewalk. "Do you- FUCKING, SLUT-" he flinches at himself. "Do you want to talk about i-"

"_NO._"


End file.
